LITTLE  BLUE  BOOK  NO. 

Edited   by   £.    Haldeman-Julius 


351 


Memories  of  Lincoln 

Walt  Whitman 


LINCOLN  ROOM 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 


MEMORIAL 

the  Class  of  1901 

founded  by 

HARLAN  HOYT  HORNER 

and 

HENRIETTA  CALHOUN  HORNER 


TEN  CENT  POCKET  SERIES  NO.  351 

Edited   by  E.   Ualdeman-Julius 


Memories  of  Lincoln 

Walt  Whitman 


HALDEMAN-JULIUS  COMPANY 
GIRARD,  KANSAS 


I'KINTKI)    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF    AMERICA 


MEMORIES  OF  LINCOLN. 


He  knew  to  bide  his  time, 
And  can  his  fame  abide, 
Still  patient  in  his  simple  faith  sublime, 
Till  the  wise  years  decide. 
Great  captains,  with  their  guns  and  drums. 
Disturb  our  judgment  for  the  hour, 
But   at  last  silence  comes; 
These  all  are  gone,  and,  standing  like  a  tower, 
Our  children  shall  behold  his  fame. 

The  kindly-earnest,  brave,  foreseeing  man, 
Sagacious,  patient,  dreading  praise,  not  blame, 
New  birth  of  our  new  soil,  the  first  American. 
James  Russell  Lowell. 


MEMORIES  OF  LINCOLN 


FOREWORD. 

Whitman  did  not  subject  Lincoln  to  the  lit- 
erary but  to  the  human  motive.  Lincoln  does 
not  become  a  literary  figure  by  his  touch.  Does 
not  become  a  man  in  a  book.  After  Whitman 
is  done  with  him  Lincoln  still  remains  Lincoln. 
No  way  reduced.  No  way  aggrandized.  Only 
toetter  understood.  His  background  does  not 
become  a  book.  His  background  remains  what 
it  was.  Remains  life.  Generic  life.  As  life 
is  where  life  finds  life  at  the  root.  I  may  let 
Whitman  put  in  a  word  for  himself.  Whitman 
said  to  me  of  Lincoln: 

"Lincoln  is  particularly  my  man — particu- 
larly belongs  to  me;  yes,  and  by  the  same 
taken  I  am  Lincoln's  man:  I  guess  I  parti- 
cularly belong  to  him:  we  are  afloat  in  the 
same  stream — we  are  rooted  in  the  same 
ground. " 

To  know  the  Lincoln  of  Whitman  you  want 
t3  know  the  Whitman  of  Whitman.  Whitman 
was  literary.  But  he  was  not  first  of  all  lit- 
erary. Or  last  of  all  literary.  First  of  all  he 
was  human.  He  was  not  the  leaves  of  a  book. 
He  was  the  bone  and  flesh  of  a  man.  Yes,  he 
was  that  something  or  other  not  bone  or  flesh 
which  is  also  of  a  man — which  finally  is  the 
rnan.  Simply  literary  analysis  can  make  little 
out  of  Whitman.  He  does  not  yield  to  the 
scalpel.  He  is  not  to  be  resurrected  from  an 
iikpot.  His  voice  falls  in  with  the  pvophet 
voices.     He  was  not  unlettered.     He  knew  rhe 


6  MHJMUKJ&S    OK   MNCOL.N 

alphabet.  But  he  kept  all  alphabetical  ar- 
rogance well  in  hand.  The  letter  was  kept  in 
hand.  The  spirit  was  left  free.  You  cannot 
buy  a  ticket  for  Athens  or  Weimar  or  Paris  or 
London  or  Boston  and  reach  Whitman.  He  is 
never  reached  in  that  circle.  The  literary  cen- 
ters do  not  lead  to  him.  You  have  got  to 
travel  to  him  by  another  route.  You  go  East 
and  find  the  Buddhistic  canticles.  You  con- 
sult the  Zoroastrian  avatars.  And  you  take 
the  word  of  Jesus  for  a  great  deal.  And  you 
may  hit  Socrates  on  the  way.  And  you  keep 
on  with  your  journey,  touchng  here  and  there 
in  European  history  certain  men,  certain  in- 
fluences. Going  into  port  now  and  then. 
Never  going  where  men  compete  for  literary 
judgment.  Never  where  men  set  out  to  acquit 
themselves  immortally  as  artists.  Keeping 
forever  close  to  the  careless  rhythms  of  ori- 
ginal causes.  So  you  go  on.  And  go  on.  And 
by  and  by  you  arrive  at  Whitman.  Not  by  way 
of  the  university.  Not  by  way  of  Shakespeare. 
Not  by  way  of  the  literary  experts  and  adepts. 
But  by  human  ways.  To  try  to  find  Whit- 
man by  way  of  Shakespeare  or  Moliere  would 
be  hopeless.  I  do  not  disparage  the  other 
routes  to  other  men.  I  am  only  describing  this 
route  to  Whitman.  This  route,  which  is  the 
only  route.  Whitman  chants  and  prays  and 
soars.  He  is  not  pretty.  He  is  only  beauti- 
ful. He  is  not  beautiful  with  the  beauty  of 
beauty.  He  is  beautiful  with  the  beauty  of 
truth.  The  pen  can  easily  miss  Whitman. 
But  the  heart  reaches  him  direct.  Whitman  is 
therefore  the  best  route  to  Lincoln.     The  same 


MEMORIES   OF   LINCOLN  T 

process  which  provides  Whitman  for  you  pro- 
vided Lincoln  for  Whitman.  Whitman  said 
to  me  again  about  Lincoln: 

"There  was  no  reason  why  Lincoln  should  not 
have  been  a  prophet  rather  than  a  politician; 
he  was  in  fact  a  divine  prophet-politician;  in 
him  for  almost  the  first  time  prophecy  had 
something  to  say  in  politics.  I  shouldn't  won- 
der but  that  in  another  age  of  the  world  Lin- 
coln would  have  been  a  chosen  man  to  lead  in 
some  rebellion  against  ecclesiastical  institu- 
tions and  religious  form  and  ceremony." 
Horace  Traubel. 


MEMORIES  OF  LINCOLN 


The  main  effect  of  this  poem  is  of  strong 
solemn,  and  varied  music;  and  it  involves  in  its 
construction  a  principle  after  which  perhaps 
the  great  composers  most  work — namely,  spiri- 
tual auricular  analogy.  At  first  it  would  seem 
to  defy  analysis,  so  rapt  is  it,  and  so  indirect. 
No  reference  whatever  is  made  to  the  mere  fact 
of  Lincoln's  death;  the  poet  does  not  even  dwell 
upon  its  unprovoked  atrocity,  and  only  occasion- 
ally is  the  tone  that  of  lamentation;  but,  with 
the  intuitions  of  the  grand  art,  which  is  the  most 
complex  when  it  seems  most  simple,  he  seizes 
upon  three  beautiful  facts  of  nature,  which  he 
weaves  into  a  wreath  for  the  dead  President's 
tomb.  The  central  thought  is  of  death,  but 
around  this  he  curiously  twines,  first,  the  early- 
blooming  lilacs  which  the  poet  may  have  plucked 
the  day  the  dark  shadow  came;  next  the  song  of 
the  hermit  thrush,  the  most  sweet  and  solemn  of 
all  our  songsters,  heard  at  twilight  in  the  dusky 
cedars;  and  with  these  the  evening  star,  which, 
as  many  may  remember,  night  after  night  in  the 
early  part  of  that  eventful  spring",  hung-  low  in 
•the  west  with  unusual  and  tender  brightness. 
These  are  the  premises  whence  he  starts  his 
solemn  chant. 

The  attitude,  therefore,  is  not  that  of  being 
bowed  down  and  weeping  hopeless  tears,  but  of 
singing-  a  commemorative  hymn,  in  which  the 
voices  of  nature  join,  and  fits  that  exalted  con- 
dition of  the  soul  which  serious  events  and  the 
presence  of  death  induce. 

JOTTN  BURROUGHS. 


MEMOR]  ::s   OF    LINCOLN 


WHEN  LILACS  LAST  IN  THE  DOORYARD 
BLOOM'D. 


When     lilacs     last     in     the     dooryard 

bloom'd, 
And  the  great  star  early  droop'd  in  the 

western  sky  in  the  night, 
I  mourn'd,  and  yet  shall  mourn  with 

ever-returning  spring. 

Ever-returning  spring,  trinity  sure  to 

me  you  bring, 
Lilac  blooming  perennial  and  drooping 

star  in  the  west, 
And  thought  of  him  I  love. 
2 

0  powerful  western  fallen  star! 
0  shades  of  night — O  moody,  tearful 
night ! 


10  MEMORIES    OF    LINCOLN 

0  great  star  disappear'd — 0  the  black 
murk  that  hides  the  star! 

0  cruel  hands  that  hold  me  powerless — 
0  helpless  soul  of  me ! 

0  harsh  surrounding  cloud  that  will  not 
free  my  soul. 


In  the  dooryard  fronting  an  old  farm- 
house near  the  white-wash'd 
palings, 

Stands  the  lilac-bush  tall-growing  with 
heart-shaped  leaves  of  rich  green, 

With  many  a  pointed  blossom  rising 
delicate,  with  the  perfume  strong 
I  love, 

With  every  leaf  a  miracle — and  from 
this  bush  in  the  dooryard, 

With  delicate-color'd  blossoms  and 
heart-shaped  leaves  of  rich  green, 

A  sprig  with  its  flower  I  break. 


MEMORIES  OF  LINCOLN  11 


In  the  swamp  in  secluded  recesses, 
A  shy  and  hidden  bird  is  warbling  a 
song. 

Solitary  the  thrush, 

The  hermit  withdrawn  to  himself,  avoid- 
ing the  settlements, 

Sings  by  himself  a  song. 

Song  of  the  bleeding  throat, 

Death's  outlet  song  of  life,  (for  well 
dear  brother  I  know\ 

If  thou  wast  not  granted  to  sing  thou 
would'st  surely  die.) 


Over  the  breast  of  the  spring,  the  land, 

amid  cities, 
Amid    lanes    and    through    old    woods, 

where  lately  the  violets  peep'd 

from   the   ground,    spotting  the 

gray  debris, 


12  MEMORT.BR  OF  LINCOLN 

Amid  the  grass  in  the  fields  each  side  of 
the  lanes,  passing  the  endless 
grass, 

Passing  the  yellow-spear'd  wheat,  every 
grain  from  its  shroud  in  the 
dark-brown  fields  uprisen, 

Passing  the  apple-tree  blows  of  white 
and  pink  in  the  orchards, 

Carrying  a  corpse  to  where  it  shall  rest 
in  the  grave, 

Night  and  day  journeys  a  coffin. 

6 

Coffin  that  passes  through  lanes  and 
streets, 

Through  day  and  night  with  the  gre&t 
cloud  darkening  the  land, 

With  the  pomp  of  the  inloop'd  flags 
with  the  cities  draped  in  black, 

With  the  show  of  the  States  themselves 
as  of  crape-veiPd  women  stand- 
ing, 

With  processions  long  and  winding  and 
the  flambeaus  of  the  night, 


MEMORIES   OF    LINCOLN  II 

With  the  countless  torches  lit,  with  the 

silent  sea  of  faces  and  the  un- 
bared heads, 
With  the  waiting  depot,  the  arriving 

coffin,  and  the  sombre  faces, 
With  dirges  through  the  night,  with  the 

thousand    voices    rising   strong 

and  solemn, 
With   all  the  mournful   voices   of  the 

dirges  pour'd  around  the  coffin, 
The  dim-lit  churches  and  the  shuddering 

organs — where   amid  these   you 

journey, 
With  the  tolling,  tolling  bell's  perpetual 

clang, 
Here,  coffin  that  slowly  passes, 
I  give  you  my  sprig  of  lilac. 

7 
(Nor  for  you,  for  one  alone, 
Blossoms  and  branches  green  to  coffins 

all  I  bring, 
For  fresh  as  the  morning,  thus  would 

I  chant  a  song  for  you  0  sane 

and  sacred  death. 


11  M  EMOTUES  OF    LINCOLN 

All  over  bouquets  of  roses, 

0  death,  I  cover  you  over  with  roses  and 

early  lilies, 
But   mostly    and    now    the    lilac   that 

blooms  the  first, 
Copious    I   break,   I   break  the   sprigs 

from  the  bushes, 
With  loaded  arms  I  come,  pouring  for 

you, 
For  you  and  the  coffins  all  of  you  0 

death.) 


8 


0  western  orb  sailing  the  heaven, 
Now  I  know  what  you  must  have  meant 

as  a  month  since  I  walk'd, 
As  I  walk'd  in  silence  the  transparent 

shadowy  night, 
As  I  saw  you  had  something  to  tell  as 

you  bent  to  me  night  after  night, 
As  you  droop'd  from  the  sky  low  down 

as  if  to  my  side,  (while  the  other 

stars  all  look'd  on,) 


MEMORIES   OF   LINCOLN  15 

As  we   wander'd   together  the   solemn 

night,    (for   something    I    know 

not  what  kept  me  from  sleep,) 
As  the  night  advanced,  and  I  saw  on  the 

rim  of   the  west  how  full   you 

were  of  woe, 
As  I  stood  on  the  rising  ground  in  the 

breeze   in    the   cool   transparent 

night, 
As  I  watch'd  where  you  pass'd  and  was 

lost  in  the  netherward  black  of 

the  night, 
As  my  soUl  in   its  trouble  dissatisfied 

sank,  as  where  you  sad  orb. 
Concluded,  clropt  in  the  night,  and  was: 

gone. 

9 

Sing  on  there  in,  the  swamp, 

0  singer  bashful  and  tender,  I  hear  your 

notes,  I  hear  your  call, 

1  hear,  I  come  presently,  I  understand 

you, 


16  MEMORJ  ES  OF    LINCOLN 

But  a  moment  I  linger,  for  the  lustrous 

star  has  detain'd  me, 
The  star  my  departing  comrade  holds 

and  detains  me. 

10 

0  how  shall  I  warble  myself  for  the 
dead  one  there  I  loved? 

And  how  shall  I  deck  my  song  for  the 
large  sweet  soul  that  has  gone? 

And  what  shall  my  perfume  be  for  the 
grave  of  him  I  love  ? 

Sea-winds  blown  from  east  and  west, 

Blown  from  the  Eastern  sea  and  blown 
from  the  Western  sea,  till  there 
on  the  prairies  meeting, 

These  and  with  these  and  the  breath  of 
my  chant, 

I'll  perfume  the  grave  of  him  I  love. 

11 

0  what  shall   I  hang  on  the  chamber 

walls? 


MEMORIES  OF   LINCOLN  17 

And  what  shall  the  pictures  be  that  I 

hang  on  the  walls, 
To    adorn    the   burial-house    of   him    I 

love? 

Pictures  of  growing  spring  and  farms 

and  homes, 
With  the  Fourth-month  eve  at  sundown, 

and  the   gray  smoke   lucid  and 

bright, 
With  floods  of  the  yellow  gold  of  the 

gorgeous,  indolent,  sinking  sun, 

burning,  expanding  the  air, 
With   the   fresh   sweet  herbage    under 

foot,  and  the  pale  green  leaves 

of  the  trees  prolific, 
In  the  distance  the  flowing  glaze,  the 

breast  of  the  river,  with  a  wind- 
dapple  here  and  there, 
With  ranging  hills  on  the  banks,  with 

many  a  line  against  the  sky,  and 

shadows, 
And  the  city  at  hand  with  dwellings  so 

dense,   and   stacks  of  chimneys, 


i8  MICMoUlKS   OF    LINCOLN 

And  all  the  scenes  of  life  and  the  work- 
shops, and  the  workmen  home- 
ward returning. 

Lo,  body  and  soul — this  land, 

My  own  Manhattan  with  spires,  and 
the  sparkling  and  hurrying  tides, 
and  the  ships, 

The  varied  and  ample  land,  the  South 
and  the  North  in  the  light,  Ohio's 
shores  and  flashing  Missouri, 

And  ever  the  far-spreading  prairies 
covered  with  grass  and  corn. 

Lo,  the  most  excellent  sun  so  calm  and 
haughty. 

The  violet  and  purple  morn  with  just- 
felt  breezes, 

The  gentle  soft-born  measureless  light. 

The  miracle  spreading  bathing  all,  the 
fulfiird  noon, 

The  coming  eve  delicious,  the  welcome 
night  and  the  stars, 

Over  my  cities  shining  all,  enveloping 
man  and  land. 


MEMORIES  OF   LINCOLN-  19 

13 

Song  on,  sing  on  you  gray-brown  bird, 

Sing  from  the  swamps,  the  recesses, 
pour  your  chant  from  the  bushes, 

Limitless  out  of  the  dusk,  out  of  the 
cedars  and  pines. 

Sing  on  dearest  brother,  warble  your 
reedy  song, 

Loud  human  song,  with  voice  of  utter- 
most woe. 

0  liquid  and  free  and  tender! 

0  wild  and  loose  to  my  soul — 0  won- 
drous singer ! 

You  only  I  hear — yet  the  star  holds  me, 
(but  will  soon  depart,) 

Yet  the  lilac  with  mastering  odor  holds 
me. 

14 

Now  while  I  sat  in  the  day  and  look'd 
forth, 


20  MEMORIES  OF   LINCOLN 

In  the  close  of  the  day  with  its  light 
and  the  fields  of  spring,  and  the 
farmers  preparing  their  crops, 

In  the  large  unconscious  scenery  of  my 
land  with  its  lakes  and  forests, 

In  the  heavenly  aerial  beauty,  (after 
the  perturb'd  winds  and  the 
storms,) 

Under  the  arching  heavens  of  the  after- 
noon swift  passing,  and  the 
voices  of  children  and  women, 

The  many-moving  sea-tides,  and  I  saw 
the  ships  how  they  sail'd, 

And  the  summer  approaching  with 
richness,  and  the  fields  all  busy 
with  labor, 

And  the  infinite  separate  houses,  how 
they  all  went  on,  each  with  its 
meals  and  minutia  of  daily 
usages, 

And  the  streets  how  their  throbbings 
throbb'd,  and  the  cities  pent — lo, 
then  and  there, 


MEMORIES  OF  LINCOLN  21 

Falling  upon  them  all  and  among  them 
all,  enveloping  me  with  the  rest, 

Appeared  the  cloud,  appear'd  the  long 
black  trail, 

And  I  knew  death,  its  thought,  and  the 
sacred  knowledge  of  death. 

Then  with  the  knowledge  of  death  as 
walking  one  side  of  me, 

And  the  thought  of  death  close-walking 
the  other  side  of  me, 

And  I  in  the  middle  as  with  companions, 
and  as  holding  the  hands  of  com- 
panions, 

I  fled  forth  to  the  hiding  receiving  night 
that  talks  not, 

Down  to  the  shores  of  the  water,  the 
path  by  the  swamp  in  the- dim- 
ness, 

To  the  solemn  shadowy  cedars  and 
ghostly  pines  so  still. 

And  the  singer  so  shy  to  the  rest 
receiv'd  me, 


22  MEMORIES  OP  LINCOLN 

The  gray-brown  bird   I  know  receiv'd 

us  comrades  three, 
And  he  sang  the  carol  of  death,  and  a 

verse  for  him  I  love. 

From  deep  secluded  recesses, 

From    the    fragrant    cedars    and    the 

ghostly  pines  so  still, 
Came  the  carol  of  the  bird. 

And  the  charm  of  the  carol  rapt  me, 
As  I  held  as  if  by  their  hands  my  com- 
rades in  the  night, 
And  the  voice  of  my  spirit  tallied  the 
song  of  the  bird. 

Come  lovely  and  soothing  death, 
Undulate  round  the  world,  serenely  ar- 
riving, arriving, 
In  the  day,  in  the  night,  to  all,  to  each, 
Sooner  or  later  delicate  death. 

Prats' d  be  the  fathomless  universe, 
For  life  and  joy,  and  for  objects  and 
knoivledge  curious, 


MEMORIES  of  i/rxroT.x  & 

And  for  love,  sweet  love — but  prt)tt&&! 
praise!  praise! 

For  the  sure-enwinding  arms  of  cool- 
enfolding  death. 

Bark  mother  always  gliding  near  with 
soft  feet, 

Have  none  chanted  for  thee  a  chant  tff 
f idlest  ivelcome4! 

Then  I  chant  it  for  thee,  I  glorify  thee 
above  all,  \ 

I  bring  thee  a  song  that  when  thou 
must  indeed  come,  come  unfalter- 
ingly. 

Approach  strong  deliveress, 

When  it  is  so,  when  thou  hast  taken 

them  I  joyously  sing  the  dead, 
Lost  in  the  loving  floating  ocean  of  thee, 
Laved  in  the  flood  of  thy  bliss  0  death. 

From  me  to  thee  glad  serenades, 
Dances  for  thee  I  propose  saluting  thee, 

adornments    and    feastings    for 

thee, 


24  MEMORIES  OP   LINCOLN 

And  the  sights  of  the  open  landscape 
and  the  high-spread  sky  are  fit- 

And  life  and  the  fields,  and  the  huge 
and  thoughtful  night. 

The  night  in  silence  under  many  a  star, 
The  ocean  shore  and  the  husky  tvhisper- 

ing  wave  lohose  voice  I  know, 
And  the  soul  turning  to  thee  0  vast  and 

well-veiVd  death, 
And  the  body  gratefully  nestling  close 

to  thee. 
Over  the  tree-tops  I  float  thee  a  song, 
Over  the  rising  and  sinking  waves,  over 

the  myriad  fields  and  the  prairies 

wide, 
Over  the  dense-pack'd  cities  all  and  the 

teeming  tvharves  and  ways, 
I  float  this  carol  with  joy,  with  joy  to 

thee  0  death. 

15 

To  the  tally  of  my  soul, 


MH.VIORIBS   OF    LINCOLN  25 

Loud  and  strong-  kept  up  the  gray-brown 

bird, 
With  pure   deliberate   notes   spreading 

filling  the  night. 

Loud  in  the  pines  and  cedars  dim, 
Clear  in  the  freshness  moist  and  the 

swamp-perfume, 
And  I  with  my  comrades  there  in  the 

night. 

While  my  sight  that  was  bound  in  my 

eyes  unclosed, 
As  to  long  panoramas  of  visions. 

And  I  saw  askant  the  armies, 

I  saw  as  in  noiseless  dreams  hundreds  of 

battle-flags, 
Borne  through  the  smoke  of  the  battles 

and  pierc'd  with  missiles  I  saw 

them, 
And    carried   hither  and   yon    through 

the  smoke,  and  torn  and  bloody, 
And  at  last  but  a  few  shreds  left  on  the 

staffs,  (and  all  in  silence), 
And  the  staffs  all  splinter' d  and  broken. 


SJ6  MEMORIES  OF   LINCOLN 

I  saw  battle-corpses,  myriads  of  them, 

And  the  white  skeletons  of  young  men, 
I  saw  them, 

I  saw  the  debris  and  debris  of  all  the 
slain  soldiers  of  the  war, 

But  I  saw  they  were  not  as  was  thought, 

They  themselves  were  fully  at  rest,  they 
suffer'cl  not, 

The  living  remain'd  and  suffer'd,  the 
mother  suffer'd, 

And  the  wife  and  the  child  and  the  mus- 
ing comrade  suffer'd, 

And  the  armies  that  remain'd  suffer'd. 


16 


Passing  the  visions,  passing  the  night, 

Passing,  unloosing  the  hold  of  my  com- 
rades' hands, 

Passing  the  song  of  the  hermit  bird  and 
the  tallying  song  of  my  soul, 

Victorious  song,  death's  outlet  song,  yet 
varying  ever-altering  song, 


Ml^.iOKiES   OF   JLlNCOLrN  2Y 

As  low  and  wailing,  yet  clear  the  notes, 
rising  and  falling,  flooding  the 
night, 

Sadly  sinking  and  fainting,  as  warning 
and  warning,  and  yet  again 
bursting  with  joy, 

Covering  the  earth  and  filling  the 
spread  of  the  heaven, 

As  that  powerful  psalm  in  the  night  I 
heard  from  recesses, 

Passing,  I  leave  thee  lilac  with  heart- 
shaped  leaves, 

I  leave  thee  there  in  the  dooryard, 
blooming,  returning  with  spring. 

I  cease  from  my  song  for  thee, 
From  my  gaze  on  thee  in  the  west,  front- 
ing the   west,   communing   with 
thee, 
0  comrade  lustrous  with  silver  face  in 
the  night. 

Yet  each  to  keep  and  all,  retrievements 
out  of  the  night, 


28  MEMORIES   OF    LINCOLN 

The  song,  the  wondrous  chant  of  the 

gray-brown  bird, 
And  the  tallying  chant,  the  echo  arous'd 

in  my  soul, 
With  the   lustrous   and   drooping  star 

with  the  countenance  full  of  woe, 
With  the  holders  holding  my  hand  near- 

ing  the  call  of  the  bird, 
Comrades  mine  and  I  in  the  midst,  and 

their  memory  ever  to  keep,  for 

the  dead  I  loved  so  well, 
For  the  sweetest,  wisest  soul  of  all  my 

days  and  lands — and  this  for  his 

dear  sake, 
Lilac  and  star  and  bird  twined  with  the 

chant  of  my  soul, 
There   in   the  fragrant   pines   and   the 

cedars  dusk  and  dim. 


0   CAPTAIN!     MY   CAPTAIN! 

O  Captain !  my  Captain  !  our  fearful  trip 
is  done, 


MEMORIES   OF   LINCOLN  29 

The  ship  has  weather'd  every  rack,  the 

prize  we  sought  is  won, 
The  port  is  near,  the  bells  I  hear,  the 

people  all  exulting, 
While  follow  eyes  the  steady  keel,  the 
vessel  grim  and  daring; 
But  0  heart !  heart !  heart ! 
0  the  bleeding  drops  of  red, 
Where  on  the  deck  my  Captain 
lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 
0  Captain!  My  Captain!   rise  up  and 

hear  the  bells ; 
Rise  up— for  you  the  flag  is  flung— for 

you  the  bugle  trills, 
For  you  bouquets  and  ribbon'd  wreaths 
— for  you  the  shores  a-crowding, 
For  you  they  call,  the  swaying  mass, 
their  eager  faces  turning ; 
Here  Captain!  dear  father! 
This  arm  beneath  your  head ! 
It  is  some  dream  that  on  the 
deck, 
You've  fallen  cold  and  dead. 


:,,i  MEMORIES  OF    LINCOLN 

JMy  Captain  does  not  answer,  his  lips  are 

pale  and  still, 
My  father  does  not  feel  my  arm,  he  has 

no  pulse  nor  will, 
The  ship  is  anchor'd  safe  and  sound,  its 

voyage  closed  and  done, 
From  fearful  trip  the  victor  ship  comes 
in  with  object  won ; 
Exult  0  shores,  and  ring  0  bells ! 
But  I  with  mournful  tread, 
Walk  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 

in. 

HUSH'D    BE    THE   CAMPS   TODAY. 
(May  4,  1865) 
Hush'd  be  the  camps  to-day, 
And  soldiers  let  us  drape  our  war-worn 

weapons, 
And  each  with  musing  soul  retire  to 

celebrate, 
Our  dear  commander's  death. 
No  more  for  him  ^fe's  stormy  conflicts, 


MEMORIES  OF  LINCOLN  31 

Nor  victory,  nor  defeat — no  more  time's 

dark  events, 
Charging  like   ceaseless   clouds   across 

the  sky. 

But  sing  poet  in  our  name, 

Sing  of  the  love  we  bore  him — because 

you,  dweller  in  camps,  know  it 

truly. 

As  they  invault  the  coffin  there, 

Sing — as  they  close  the  doors  of  earth 

upon  him — one  verse, 
For  the  heavy  hearts  of  soldiers. 

IV. 

THIS  DUST  WAS   ONCE  THE  MAN. 

This  dust  was  once  the  man, 

Gentle,  plain,  just  and  resolute,  under 

whose  cautious  hand, 
Against   the    foulest    crime    in   history 

known  in  any  land  or  age, 
Was  saved  t^p  Union  of  these  States. 


32  MEMORIES   OF   JJNCOI^N 

LYRICS  OF  THE  WAR. 
BEAT!    BEAT!    DRUMS! 

Beat!     beat!     drums! — blow!     bugles! 

blow! 
Through   the   windows — through   doors 

— burst  like  a  ruthless  force. 
Into    the    solemn    church,    and    scatter 

the  congregation, 
Into   the   school   where   tfie   scholar   is 

studying ; 
Leave    not    the    bridegroom    quiet — no 

happiness    must    he    have    now 

with  his  bride, 
Nor   the    peaceful    farmer    any    peace, 

ploughing  his  field  or  gathering 

his  grain, 
So   fierce   you   whirr   and    pound    you 

drums — so  shrill  you  bugles  blow. 

Beat!     beat!     drums! — blow!     bugles! 
blow! 


MEMORIES   OF   LINCOLN  33 

Over  the  traffic  of  cities — over  the  rum- 
ble of  wheels  in  the  streets; 

Are  beds  prepared  for  sleepers  at  night 
in  the  houses?  no  sleepers  must 
sleep  in  those  beds, 

No  bargainers'  bargains  by  day — no 
brokers  or  speculators — would 
they  continue? 

Would  the  talkers  be  talking?  would  the 
singer  attempt  to  sing? 

Would  the  lawyer  rise  in  the  court  to 
state  his  case  before  the  judge? 

Then  rattle  quicker,  heavier  drums — 
you  bugles  wilder  blow. 

Beat!  beat!  drums! — blow!  bugles! 
blow! 

Make  no  parley — stop  for  no  expostu- 
lation, 

Mind  not  the  timid — mind  not  the  weep- 
er or  prayer, 

Mind  not  the  old  man  beseeching  the 
young  man, 

Let  not  the  child's  voice  be  heard,  nor 

the  mother's  entreaties, 


34  MEMORIES   OF   LINCOLN 

Make  even  the  trestles  to  shake  the 
dead  where  they  lie  awaiting  the 
hearses, 

So  strong  you  thump  0  terrible  drums 
— so  loud  you  bugles  blow. 

COME  UP  FROM  THE  FIELDS  FATHER. 

Come  up  from  the  fields  father,  here's 
a  letter  from  our  Pete, 

And  come  to  the  front  door  mother, 
here's  a  letter  from  thy  dear  son. 

Lo,  't  is  autumn, 

Lo,  where  the  trees,  deeper  green,  yel- 
lower and  redder, 

Cool  and  sweeten  Ohio's  villages  with 
leaves  fluttering  in  the  moderate 
wind, 

Where  apples  ripe  in  the  orchards  hang 
and  grapes  on  the  trellis'd  vines, 

(Smell  you  the  smell  of  the  grapes  on 
the  vines? 


MEMORIES   OF    LINCOLN  35 

Smell  you  the  buckwheat  where  the  bees 
were  lately  buzzing?) 

Above  all,  lo,  the  sky  so  calm,  so  trans- 
parent after  the  rain,  and  with 
wondrous  clouds, 

Below  too,  all  calm,  all  vital  and  beau- 
tiful, and  the  farm  prospers  well. 

Down  in  the  fields  all  prospers  well, 
But  now  from  the  fields  come  father, 

come  at  the  daughter's  call, 
And  come  to  the  entry  mother,  to  the 

front  door  come  right  away. 
Fast  as  she  can  she  hurries,  something 

ominous,  her  steps  trembling, 
She  does  not  tarry  to  smooth  her  hair 

nor  adjust  her  cap. 
Open  the  envelope  quickly, 
0  this  is  not  our  son's  writing,  yet  his 

name  is  sign'd, 
0  a  strange  hand  writes  for  our  dear 

son,  0  stricken  mother's  soul ! 


36  MEMORIES  OF  LINCOLN 

All  swims  before  her  eyes,  flashes  with 

black,  she  catches  the  main  words 

only, 
Sentences  broken,  gunshot  wound  in  the 

breast,   cavalry  skirmish,   taken 

to  hospital, 
At  present  low,  but  will  soon  be  better'. 

Ah  now  the  single  figure  to  me, 

Amid  all  teeming  and  wealthy  Ohio  with 

all  its  cities  and  farms, 
Sickly  white  in  the  face  and  dull  in  the 

head,  very  faint, 
By  the  jamb  of  a  door  leans. 

Grieve  not  so,  dear  mother,  (the  just- 
grown  daughter  speaks  through 
her  sobs, 

The  little  sisters  huddle  around  speech- 
less and  dismay'd,) 

See.  dearest  mother,  the  letter  says  Pete 
will  soon  be  better. 

Alas  poor  boy,  he  will  never  be  better, 
(nor  may-be  needs  to  be  better, 
chat  brave  and  simple  soul,) 


MEMORIES  OF  LINCOLN  37 

While  they  stand  at  home  at  the  door  he 

is  dead  already, 
The  only  son  is  dead. 

But  the  mother  needs  to  be  better, 

She  with  thin  form  presently  drest  in 
black, 

By  day  her  meals  untouch'd,  t  then  at 
night  fitfully  sleeping,  often  wak- 
ing, 

In  the  midnight  waking,  weeping,  long- 
ing with  one  deep  longing, 

0  that  she  might  withdraw  unnoticed, 
silent  from  life  escape  and  with- 
draw, 

To  follow,  to  seek,  to  be  with  her  dear 
dead  son. 

THE  WOUND-DRESSER. 
1 

An  old  man  bending  I  come  among  new 

faces, 
Years    looking   backward    resuming    in 

answer  to  children, 


3S  MEMORIES  OP  LINCOLN 

Come  tell  us  old  man,  as  from  young 

men  and  maidens  that  lova  me, 
(Arous'd  and  angry,  I  'd  thought  to  beat 

the  alarum,  and  urge  relentless 

war, 
But  soon  my  fingers  faiPd  me,  my  face 

droop'd  and  I  resign'd  myself, 
To  sit  by  the  wounded  and  soothe  them, 

or  silently  watch  the  dead;) 
Years  hence  of  these  scenes,  of  these 

furious  passions,  these  chances, 
Of  unsurpass'd  heroes,  (was  one  side  so 

brave?    the    other    was    equally 

brave;) 

Now  be  witness  again,  paint  the  mighti- 
est armies  of  earth, 

Of  those  armies  so  rapid  so  wondrous 
what  saw  you  to  tell  us? 

What  stays  with  you  latest  and  deepest  ? 
of  curious  panics, 

Of  hard-fought  engagements  or  sieges 
tremendous  what  deepest  re- 
mains ? 


MEMORIES   OF    LINCOLN  39 

2 

0  maidens  and  young  men  I  love  and 
that  love  me, 

What  you  ask  of  my  days  those  the 
strangest  and  sudden  your  talk- 
ing recalls, 

Soldier  alert  I  arrive  after  a  long  march 
cover'd  with  sweat  and  dust, 

In  the  nick  of  time  I  come,  plunge  in  the 
fight,  loudly  shout  in  the  rush  of 
successful  charge, 

Enter  the  captur'd  works — yet  lo,  like  a 
swift-running  river  they  fade, 

Pass  and  are  gone  they  fade — I  dwell  not. 
on  soldiers'  perils  or  soldiers' 
joys, 

(Both  I  remember  well — many  the  hard- 
ships, few  the  joys,  yet  I  was 
content.) 

But  in  silence,  in  dreams'  projections, 
While  the  world  of  gain  and  appearance 
and  mirth  goes  on. 


40  MEMORIES  OF  LINCOLN 

So   soon   what   is   over  forgotten,   and 

waves  wash  the  imprints  off  the 

sand, 
With  hinged  knees  returning  I  enter  the 

doors,    (while  for  you  up  there, 
Whoever  you  are,  follow  without  noise 

and  be  of  strong  heart.) 
Bearing  the  bandages,  water  and  sponge, 
Straight  and  swift  to  my  wounded  I  go, 
Where  they  lie  on  the  ground  after  the 

battle  brought  in, 
Where  their  priceless  blood  reddens  the 

grass  the  ground, 
Or  to  the  rows  of  the  hospital  tent,  or 

under  the  roof'd  hospital, 
To  the  long  rows  of  cots  up  and  down 

each  side  I  return, 
To  each  and  all  one  after  another  I  draw 

near,  not  one  do  I  miss, 
An  attendant  follows  holding  a  tray,  he 

carries  a  refuse  pail, 
Soon  to  be  fill'd  with  clotted  rags  and 

blood,  emptied,  and  fill'd  again. 


MEMORIES  OF  LINCOLN  41 

I  onward  go,  I  stop, 

With  hinged  knees  and  steady  hand  to 

dress  wounds, 
I  am  firm  with  each,  the  pangs  are  sharp 

yet  unavoidable, 
One  turns  to  me  his  appealing  eyes — 

poor  boy !  I  never  knew  you, 
Yet    I    think    I    could    not    refuse   this 

moment  to  die  for  you,  if  that 

would  save  you. 


On,  on  I  go,  (open  doors  of  time!  open 

hospital  doors!) 
The  crushed  head  I  dress,  (poor  crazed 

hand     tear     not     the     bandage 

away,) 
The  neck  of  the  cavalry-man  with  the 

bullet  through  and  through  I  ex- 
amine, 
Hard  the  breathing  rattles,  quite  glazed 

already  the  eye,  yet  life  struggles 

hard, 


4!>  MEMORIES   OK   l.TXCOlvN 

(Come   sweet   death!    be   persuaded    0 

beautiful  death! 
In  mercy  come  quickly.) 

From  the  stump  of  the  arm,  the  ampu- 
tated hand, 

I  undo  the  clotted  lint,  remove  the 
slough,  wash  off  the  matter  and 
blood, 

Back  on  his  pillow  the  soldier  bends  with 
curv'd  neck  and  side-falling  head, 

His  eyes  are  closed,  his  face  is  pale,  he 
dares  not  look  on  the  bloody 
stump, 

And  has  not  yet  look'd  on  it. 

I  dress  a  wound  in  the  side,  deep,  deep, 
But  a  day  or  two  more,  for  see  the  frame 

all  wasted  and  sinking, 
And  the  yellow-blue  countenance  see. 
I  dress  the  perforated  shoulder,  the  foot 

with  the  bullet-wound, 
Cleanse  the   one   with   a  gnawing  and 

putrid  gangrene,  so  sickening,  so 

offensive, 


MEMORIES  OF   LINCOLN  4  3 

While  the  attendant  stands  behind  aside 
me  holding  the  tray  and  pail. 

I  am  faithful,  I  do  not  give  out, 

The  fractured  thigh,  the  knee,  the  wound 

in  the  abdomen, 
These  and  more  I  dress  with  impassive 

hand,   (yet  deep  in  my  breast  a 

fire,  a  burning  flame.) 


Thus  in  silence  in  dreams'  projections, 

Returning,  resuming,  I  thread  my  way 
through  the  hospitals, 

The  hurt  and  wounded  I  pacify  with 
soothing  hand, 

I  sit  by  the  restless  all  the  dark  night, 
some  are  so  young, 

Some  suffer  so  much,  I  recall  the  experi- 
ence sweet  and  sad, 

(Many  a  soldier's  loving  arms  about  this 
neck  have  cross'd  and  rested, 

Many  a  soldier's  kiss  dwells  on  these 
bearded  lips.) 


44  MEMORIES  OF  LINCOLN 

SPIRIT  WHOSE  WORK  IS  DONE. 
(Washington  City,  1865) 

Spirit  whose  work  is  done — spirit  of 

dreadful  hours! 
Ere  departing  fade  from  my  eyes  your 

forests  of  bayonets ; 
Spirit  of  gloomiest  fears   and   doubts, 

(yet    onward    ever    unfaltering 

pressing,) 
Spirit  of  many  a  solemn  day  and  many 

a  savage  scene — electric  spirit, 
That  with  muttering  voice  through  the 

war  now  closed,   like  a  tireless 

phantom  flitted, 
Rousing  the  land  with  breath  of  flame, 

while  you  beat  and  beat  the  drum, 

Now  as  the  sound  of  the  drum,  hollow 
and  harsh  to  the  last,  reverbe- 
rates round  me, 


MEMORIES  OF   LINCOLN  45 

As  your  ranks,  your  immortal  ranks,  re- 
turn, return  from  the  battles, 

As  the  muskets  of  the  young  men  yet 
lean  over  their  shoulders, 

\s  I  look  on  the  bayonets  bristling  over 
their  shoulders, 

As  those  slanted  bayonets,  whole  forests 
of  them  appearing  in  the  dis- 
tance, approach  and  pass  on,  re- 
turning homeward, 

Moving  with  steady  motion,  swaying  to 
and  fro  to  the  right  and  left, 

Evenly  lightly  rising  and  falling  while 
the  steps  keep  time; 

Spirit  of  hours  I  knew,  all  hectic  red  one 
day,  but  pale  as  death  next  day, 

Touch  my  mouth  ere  you  depart,  press 
my  lips  close, 

Leave  me  your  pulses  of  rage — bequeath 
them  to  me — fill  me  with  cur- 
rents convulsive, 

Let  them  scorch  and  blister  out  of  my 
chants  when  you  are  gone, 

Let  them  identify  you  to  the  future  in 
these  songs. 


MEM<  >RIES   OF    LIN<  '<  >LN 


ASHES  OF  SOLDIERS. 

Ashes  of  soldiers  South  or  North, 
As  I  muse  retrospective  murmuring  a 

chant  in  thought, 
The  war  resumes,   again   to   my   sense 

your  shapes, 
And  again  the  advance  of  the  armies. 

Noiseless  as  mists  and  vapors, 

Prom  their  graves  in  the  trenches  as- 
cending, 

From  cemeteries  all  through  Virginia 
and  Tennessee, 

From  every  point  of  the  compass  out  of 
the  countless  graves, 

In  wafted  clouds,  in  myriads  large,  or 
squads  of  twos  or  threes  or  single 
ones  they  come, 

And  silently  gather  round  me. 

Now  sound  no  note  0  trumpeters, 


MEMORIES  OF   LINCOLN  47 

Not  at  the  head  of  my  cavalry  parading 

on  spirited  horses, 
With  sabres  drawn  and  glistening,  and 

carbines  by  their  thighs,  (ah  my 

brave  horsemen ! 
My  handsome  tan-faced  horsemen !  what 

life,  what  joy  and  pride, 
With  all  the  perils  were  yours.) 

Nor  you  drummers,  neither  at  reveille 
at  dawn, 

Nor  the  long  roll  alarming  the  camp, 
nor  even  the  muffled  beat  for  a 
burial, 

Nothing  from  you  this  time  0  drum- 
mers bearing  my  warlike  drums. 

But  aside  from  these  and  the  marts  of 
wealth  and  the  crowded  prom- 
enade, 

Admitting  around  me  comrades  close 
unseen  by  the  rest  and  voiceless, 

The  slain  elate  and  alive  again,  the  dust 
and  debris  alive, 


4S  MEMORIES  OF    LINCOLN 

I  chant  this  chant  of  my  silent  soul  in 
the  name  of  all  dead  soldiers. 

Faces  so  pale  with  wondrous  eyes,  very 

dear,  gather  closer  yet, 
Draw  close,  but  speak  not. 

Phantoms  of  countless  lost, 

Invisible  to  the  rest  henceforth  become 

my  companions, 
Follow  me  ever — desert  me  not  while  I 

live. 

Sweet  are  the  blooming  cheeks  of  the 

living — sweet    are    the    musical 

voices  sounding, 
But  sweet,  ah  sweet,  are  the  dead  with 

their  silent  eyes. 
Dearest  comrades,  all  is  over  and  long 

gone, 
But  love  is  not  over — and  what  love,  0 

comrades ! 
Perfume   from   battle-fields   rising,    up 

from  the  fcetor  arising. 


MEMORIES   OF   LINCOLN  49 

Perfume  therefore   my  chant,   0   love, 

immortal  love, 
Give  me  to  bathe  the  memories  of  all 

dead  soldiers, 
Shroud  them,  embalm  them,  cover  their 

all  over  with  tender  pride. 

Perfume  all — make  all  wholesome, 
Make  these  ashes  to  nourish  and  blos- 
som, 
0  love,  solve  all,  fructify  all  with  the 
last  chemistry. 

Give  me  exhaustless,  make  me  a  foun- 
tain, 

That  I  exhale  love  from  me  wherever 
I  go  like  a  moist  perennial  dew, 

For  the  ashes  of  all  dead  soldiers  South 
or  North. 

PENSIVE  ON  HER  DEAD  GAZING. 

Pensive  on  her  dead  gazing  I  heard  the 
Mother  of  All, 


50  MEMORIES  OF   LINCOLN 

Desperate  on  the  torn  bodies,  on  the 
forms  covering  the  battle-fields 
gazing, 

(As  the  last  gun  ceased,  but  the  scent 
of  the  powder-smoke  linger 'd,) 

As  she  caird  to  her  earth  with  mourn* 
ful  voice  while  she  stalk'd, 

Absorb  them  well  0  my  earth,  she  cried, 
I  charge  you  lose  not  my  sons, 
lose  not  an  atom, 

And  you  streams  absorb  them  well,  tak- 
ing their  dear  blood, 

And  you  local  spots,  and  you  airs  that 
swim   above   lightly  impalpable, 

And  all  you  essences  of  soil  and  growth, 
and  you  my  rivers'  depths, 

And  you  mountain  sides,  and  the  woods 
where  my  dear  children's  blood 
trickling  redden'd, 

And  you  trees  down  in  your  roots  to  be- 
queath to  all  future  trees. 

My  dead  absorb  or  South  or  North — my 
young  men's  bodies  absorb,  and 
their  precious,  precious  blood, 


.  MEMORIES  OF   LINCOLN  51 

Which  holding  in  trust  for  me  faith- 
fully back  again  give  me  many 
a  year  hence, 

In  unseen  essence  and  odor  of  surface 
and  grass,  centuries  hence, 

In  blowing  airs  from  the  fields  back 
again  give  me  my  darlings,  give 
my  immortal  heroes, 

Exhale  me  them  centuries  hence, 
breathe  me  their  breath,  let  not 
an  atom  be  lost, 

O  years  and  graves !  0  air  and  soil !  0 
my  dead,  an  aroma  sweet! 

Exhale  them  perennial  sweet  death, 
years,  centuries  hence. 

CAMPS  OF  GREEN. 

Not  alone  those  camps  of  white,  old  com- 
rades of  the  wars, 

When  as  order'd  forward,  after  a  long 
march, 

Footsore  and  weary,  soon  as  the  light 
lessens  we  halt  for  the  night, 


52  MEMORIES   OF    LINCOLN 

Some  of  us  so  fatigued  carrying  the  gun 
and  knapsack,  dropping  asleep  in 
our  tracks, 

Othtrs  pitching  the  little  tents,  and  the 
fires  lit  up  begin  to  sparkle, 

Outposts  of  pickets  posted  surrounding 
alert  through  the  dark, 

And  a  word  provided  for  countersign, 
careful  for  safety, 

Till  to  the  call  of  the  drummers  at  day- 
break loudly  beating  the  drums, 

We  rise  up  ref resh'd,  the  night  and  sleep 
pass'd  over,  and  resume  our  jour- 
ney, 

Or  proceed  to  battle. 

Lo,  the  camps  of  the  tents  of  green, 
Which  the  days  of  peace  keep  filling, 

and  the  days  of  war  keep  filling, 
With  a  mystic  army,   (is  it  too  order'd 

forward?  is  it  too  only  halting 

awhile, 
Till  night  and  sleep  pass  over?) 


MEMORIES  OF   LINCOLN  58 

Now  in  those  camps  of  green,  in  their 

tents  dotting  the  world, 
In    the    parents,    children,    husbands, 

wives   in  them,   in  the  old  and 

young, 
Sleeping   under  the   sunlight,    sleeping 

under  the  moonlight,  content  and 

silent  there  at  last, 
Behold    the    mighty   bivouac-field    and 

waiting  camp  of  all, 
Of  the  corps  and  generals  all,  and  the 

President  over  the  corps  and  gen- 
erals all, 
And  of  each  of  us  0  soldiers,  and  of 

each   and   all   in   the   ranks   we 

fought, 
(There  without  hatred  we  all,  all  meet.) 

For  presently  0  soldiers,  we  too  camp 

in  our  place  in  the  bivouac-camps 

of  green, 
But  wre  need  not  provide  for  outposts, 

nor  word  for  the  countersign, 
Nor    drummer    to    beat    the    morning 

drum. 


:,  I  TEN  CENT   POCKET  SEKIES 

Other  Titles  in  Pocket  Series 


Drama 

245 

Measure  for  Measure. 

246 

Hamlet. 

316   Prometheus      Bound. 

247 

Macbeth. 

Aeschylos. 

248 

King  Henry  V. 

90  The    Mikado.      Gilbert. 

251 

Midsummer  Night's 

295  Master  Builder.     Ibsen. 

Dream. 

308   She  Stoops  to  Conquer. 

252 

Othello,    The    Moor 

Oliver  Goldsmith. 

Venice. 

134   The  Misanthrope. 

Moliere. 

2  53 

King   Henry   VIII. 

16   Ghosts.    Henrik  Ibsen. 

a  1 1 

The  Taming  of  the 

80   Pillars  of   Society. 

Shrew. 

Ibsen. 

255 

King  Lear. 

46   Salome.    Oscar  Wilde. 

2  56 

Venus  and  Adonis. 

54   Importance  of  Being 

257 

King  Henry  IV. 

Earnest.    0.   Wilde. 

Part  I. 

8   Lady   Windermere's 

258 

King   Henry   IV. 

Fan.    Oscar  Wilde. 

Part  II. 

131   Redemption.   Tolstoi. 

249 

Julius    Ciicsar. 

99   Tartuffe.      Moliere 

2  5  0 

Ilomeo  and  Juliet. 

31    Pelleas  and  Melisande. 

2  59 

King   Henry  VI. 

Maeterlinck. 

Part  I. 

226   Prof.  Bernhardt 
Schnitzler. 

260 

King  Henry   VJ. 
Part  II. 

Shakespeare's  Plays 

261 

King  Henry  VI. 

240   The    Tempest. 

Part  III. 

2  41   Merry   Wives   of   Wind- 

262 

Comedy  of  Errors. 

sor. 

263 

King  John. 

242   As  You  Like  It. 

264 

King    Richard    in. 

2  43    Twelfth  Night. 

2  6  5 

King    Richard   II. 

244    Much    Ado    About 

267 

Pericles. 

Nothing. 

Merchant  of  Venice. 

TEN  CENT  POCKET  SERIES 


Fiction 


the 


143  In    the     Time     of 

Terror.     Balzac. 
280  Happy     Prince     and 

Other   Tales.      Wilde. 
182   Daisy   Miller.     Henry 

Jam  fs. 
162    The   Murders   in   The 

Rue  Morgue  and  Other 

Tales.       Edgar       Allan 

Poe. 
3  45   Clarimonde.       Gautier. 
292    Mademoiselle  Fifi. 

De  Maupassant. 
199   The  Tallow  Ball.    De 

Maupassant. 
6   De  Maupassant's 

Stories. 
15   Balzac's    Stories. 
344   Don  Juan   and  Other 

Stories.  Balzac. 
318   Christ  in  Flanders  and 

Other   Stones.     Balzac. 
230   The  Fleece  of  Gold. 

Theophile  Gautier. 
178   One    of   Cleopatra's 

Nights.  Gautier. 

314    Short  Stories.     Daudet. 

58   Boccaccio's    Stories. 

45   Tolstoi's   Short   Stories. 

12    Poe's  Tales  of  Mystery. 

290   The    Gold    Bug.     Edgar 

Allan    Poe 
14  5   Great   Ghost  Stories. 


21   Carmen.    Merimee. 
23   Great  Stories  of  the 
Sea. 
319   Comtesse    de    Saint- 
Gerane.   Dumas. 
38  Dr.  Jekyll   and  Mr. 
Hyde.   Stevenson. 
2  79   Will  o'  the  Mill; 

Markheim.    Stevenson. 
311   A  Lodging  for  the 
Night.   Stevenson. 
27   Last    Days    of   a   Con- 
demned Man.    Hugo. 
151   Man   Who  Would  Be 

King.    Kipling. 
148   Strength  of  the  Strong. 
London. 
41   Christmas   Carol. 

Dickens. 
57   Rip   Van  Winkle. 
Irving. 
100   Red    Laugh.     Andreyev. 
105   Seven  That  Were 

Hanged.  Andreyev. 
102   Sherlock  Holmes  Tales. 

Conan  Doyle. 
161   Country    of   the    Blind. 
H.  G.. Wells. 
85   Attack  on  the  Mill. 
Zola. 
156   Andersen's  Fairy  Tales. 
158   Alice    in    Wonderland. 
37    Dream   of  John  Ball. 
William   Morris. 


H6 


TEX  TENT   POCKET  SkRlES 


40   House  and   the   Brain. 

Bulwer    Lytton. 
72   Color    of   Life. 

E.    Haldeman-Julius. 
198   Majesty    of   Justice. 

Anatole  France. 
215  The  Miraculous  Re- 
venge.   Bernard  Shaw. 
24   The   Kiss   and   Other 

Stories.    Chekhov. 
285  Euphorian   in  Texas. 

George   Moore. 
219  The   Human  Tragedy. 

Anatole  France. 
196  The    Marquise.     George 

Sand. 
239  Twenty-Six   Men   and  a 

Girl.     Gorki. 
29  Dreams.     Olive 

Schreiner. 
232   The    Three    Strangers. 

Thomas   Hardy. 
277  The   Man  Without  a 

Country.    E.   E.    Hale. 

History,  Biography 

324   Life  of  Lincoln.  Bowers. 

312   Life  and  Works  of  Lau- 
rence Sterne.     Gunn. 

328   Addison    and  His  Times. 
Finger. 

323    The    Life   of   Joan  of 
Arc. 


339    Thoreau — The    Man 

Who  Escaped   from    the 

Herd.     Finger. 
126   History  of  Rome. 

A.   F.   Giles. 
128  Julius    Caesar:    Who 

He  Was. 
185   History   of    Printing. 
149   Historic   Crimes   and 

Criminals.    Finger. 
175   Science   of  History. 

Froude. 
104    Battle    of    Waterloo. 

Victor   Hugo. 
52  Voltaire.     Victor  Hugo. 
125   War   Speeches   of 

Woodrow  Wilson. 
22   Tolstoy:    His    Life    and 

Works. 
142   Bismarck  and  the 

German  Empire. 

2  86  When   the    Puritans 

Were  in   Power. 

3  43   Life  of  Columbus. 

66   Crimes   of  the  Borgias. 
Dumas. 
2  87    Whistler:    The    Man 
and    His    Work. 
51    Bruno:   His   Life   and 
Martyrdom. 
147    Cromwell    and     His 

Times. 
236    State    and   Heart 

Affairs  of  Henry  MIL 
50    Paine's  Common  Sense. 


TEN   CENT 


PCX 


223 


fc8  Vindication  of  Paine. 

In^ersoll. 
33   Brann:    Smasher  of 

Shams. 
L63   Sex  Life  in  Greece  and 

Rome. 
214   Speeches  of  Lincoln. 
276   Speeches    and   Letters 

of  Geo.   Washington. 
144   Was   Poe  Immoral? 
Whitman. 

Essay  on  Swinburne. 
Keats,  The  Man   and 
His  Work. 
150   Lost    Civilizations. 

Finger. 
170   Constantine   and  the 
Beginnings  of  Christi- 
anity. 
201    Satan  and  the  Saints. 
67   Church  History. 
H.  M.  Tichenor. 
169   Voices  from  the  Past. 
266   Life    of    Shakespeare 
and  Analysis   of   His 
Plays. 
123   Life    of   Madame   Du 

Barry. 
139    Life    of  Dante. 
09   Life  of  Mary,  Queen  of 
Scots.     Dumas. 
5  Life   of   Samuel 
Johnson.      Macaulay. 
174   Trial  of  William  Penn. 


:KET  series  57 

Humor 

291  Jumping  /rog  and 

Other  Humorous  Tales. 
Mark   Twain. 
18   Idle  Thoughts   of   an 
Idle  Fellow.    Jerome. 
166   English   as   She   Is 

Spoke.    Mark  Twain. 
231   Eight   Humorous 

Sketches.    Mark  Twain. 
205   Artemus  Ward.     His 

Book. 
187   Whistler's  Humor. 
216   Wit  of  Heinrich  Heine. 
George  Eliot. 
20  Let's  Laugh.    Nasby. 

Literature 

278   Friendship     and     Othel 

Essays.      Thoreau. 
195  Thoughts     on    Nature. 

Thoreau. 
194   Lord    Chesterfield's 

Letters. 
63   A   Defense   of   Poetry. 
Shelley. 
97    Love    Letters    of   King 
Henry   VIII. 
3   Eighteen  Essays. 
Voltaire. 
2  8   Toleration.     Voltaire. 
89    Love   Letters  of   Men 
and   Women  of  Genius. 


58 


TEN   CENT   POCKET  SERIES 


186   How    I    Wrote    "The 

Haven."     Poe. 
87  Love,  an  Essay. 

Montaigne. 
48  Bacon's  Essays. 

60  Emerson's   Essays. 
SI    Love   Letters  of  a 

Portuguese  Nun. 

26   On    Going   to    Church. 
G.  B.  Shaw. 
135   Socialism   for  Million- 
aires.   G.   B.   Shaw. 

61  Tolstoi's    Essays. 

176  Four   Essays. 
Haveloek   Ellis. 

160  Lecture  on   Shakes- 
peare.   Ingersoll. 

75  Choice  of  Books. 
Carlyle. 

2  88  Essays    on    Chesterfield 
and   Rabelais. 
Sainte-Beuve. 

76  The    Prince   of   Peace. 
W.   J.   Bryan. 

86   On    Reading.     Brandes. 
95   Confessions  of  An 

Opium   Eater. 
213   Lecture  on  Lincoln. 

Ingersoll. 

177  Subjection  of  Women. 
John  Stuart  Mill. 

17   On  Walking.    Thoreau. 
70   Charles  Lamb's  Essays. 
285   Essays.     Gilbert   K. 
Chesterton. 


7  A  Liberal  Education* 

Thomas  Huxley. 
233   Thoughts  on  Literature 

and  Art.    Goethe. 
2  25   Condescension  in 

Foreigners.    Lowell. 
221    Women,   and   Other 

Essays;    Maeterlinck. 
10    Shelley.    Francis 

Thompson. 

2  89   Pepys'    Diary. 

299    Prose   Nature   Notes. 

Walt   Whitman. 
.;  1  r>    Pen,  Pencil  and  Poison. 

Oscar   Wilde. 
313    The    Decay  of  Lying. 

Oscar  Wilde. 
3G    Soul   of  Man  Under 

Socialism.    O.  Wilde. 
293    Francois  Villon: 

Student,   Poet  and 

Housebreaker.     R.  L. 

Stevenson. 

Maxims  and  Epigrams 

179   Gems   from   Emerson. 
7  7   What   Great   Men    Have 
Said  About  Women. 

3  0  4    What    Great    Women 

Have    Said  About    Men. 
310   The  Wisdom  of 

Thackeray. 
193    Wit   and    W7isdom   of 

Charles   Lamb. 
56   Wisdom  of  Ingerjoll. 


TEN  CENT  POCKET  SERIES 


106  Aphorisms.    George 
Sand. 

168  Epigrams.    Oscar 
Wilde. 
59   Epigrams  of  Wit  and 

Wisdom. 
35   Maxims. 

Rochefoucauld. 

•154   Epigrams  of  Ibsen. 

19  7   Witticisms  and  Re- 
flections.   De   Sevigne. 

180  Epigrams   of   George 
Bernard   Shaw. 

155  Maxims.    Napoleon. 

181  Epigrams.    Thoreau. 
22  8  Aphorisms.    Huxley. 

113  Proverbs  of  England. 

114  Proverbs  of  France. 

115  Proverbs  of  Japan. 
1 1 G   Proverbs  of  China. 

117  Proverbs  of  Italy. 

118  Proverbs  of  Russia. 

119  Proverbs  of  Ireland. 

120  Proverbs  of  Spain. 

121  Proverbs  of  Arabia. 

Philosophy,  Religion 

159  A  Guide  to  Plato.     Du- 
rant. 

322   The  Buddhist  Philoso- 
phy of  Life. 

347   A   Guide   to    Stoicism. 

124    Theory    of   Reincarna- 
tion   Explained. 


157   Plato's  Republic. 
62   Schopenhauer's    Essp;s. 
94   Trial  and  Death   of 

Socrates. 
65   Meditations  of 

Marcus  Aurelius. 
64   Rudolf  Eucken:      His 
Life  and  Philosophy. 
4   Age  of  Reason.    Thomas 

Paine. 
55   Herbert  Spencer:  Hi? 

Life  and  Works. 
44  Aesop's   Fables. 
165   Discovery  of  the  Fu- 
ture.   H.   G.  Wells. 
96   Dialogues  of   Plato. 
3  25  Essence  of  Buddhism. 
103    Pocket  Theology. 

Voltaire. 
13  2   Foundations   of  Re- 
ligion. 
138   Studies  in   Pessimism. 
Schopenhauer. 

211  Idea  of  God  in  Na- 
ture.   John  Stuart  MilS. 

212  Life  and  Character. 
Goethe. 

200  Ignorant  Philosopher. 

Voltaire. 
101   Thoughts   of    Pascal. 
210   The    Stoic    Philosophy. 

Prof.    G.    Murray. 
2  24    God:    Known   nnd 

Unl  now  ii.     H>jt  icr. 


60 


TEN   CENT    POCKET  SERIES 


19   Nietzsche:   Who  He 

Was  and   What   He 

Stood  For. 
204    Sun  Worship  and 

Later   Beliefs. 

Tichenor. 
207   Olympian   Gods. 

H.  M.   Tichenor. 
184    Primitive  Beliefs. 
153   Chinese  Philosophy  of 

Life. 
-SO   What  Life   Means  to 

Me.    Jack  London. 


Poetry 


152   The   Kasidah.      Burton. 

317   L 'Allegro      and      Other 
Poems.      Milton. 

283    Courtship     of    Miles 
Standish.       Longfellow. 

282   Rime    of    Ancient    Mar- 
iner.     Coleridge. 

297    Poems.     Robert 
Southey. 

329  Dante's  Inferno, 
Volume  I. 

330  Dante's  Inferno, 
Volume   II. 

306   A    Shropshire   Lad. 
Housman. 
Poems  of  Robert 
Burns. 

Rubaiyat  of  Omar 
Khayyam. 
Walt    Whitman's 
Poems. 


284 


73 


2    Wilde's   Ballad   of 
Reading  Jail. 
32   Poe's   Poems. 
164   Michael  Angelo's 
Sonnets. 
71   Poems   of  Evolution. 
146   Snow-Bound.    Pied 
Piper. 
9   Great  English   Poems. 
79  Enoch  Arden. 

Tennyson. 
68   Shakespeare's  Sonnets. 
281    Lays  of  Ancient  Rome. 

Macaulay. 
173   Vision  of  Sir  Launfal. 

Lowell. 
22  2   The  Vampire  and 

Other    Poems.     Kipling. 
237    Prose   Poems. 
Baudelaire. 

Science 

3  21   A  History  of  Evolution. 
Fenton. 

327   The    Ice    Age.      Finger. 

217   The   Puzzle  of  Person- 
ality; a  Study  in 
Psycho-Analysis. 
Fielding. 

190    Psycho-Analysis — The 
Key  to   Human  Be- 
havior.    Fielding. 

140   Biology   and    Spiritual 
Philosophy. 

2  75   The    Building  of  the 
Earth.     C.   L.   Fenton. 


TEN  CENT  POCKET  SERIES 


61 


49  Three  Lectures  on 
Evolution.    Haeckel. 

42  Origin    of    the    Human 
Race. 

238  Reflections    on   Modern 

Science.    Huxley. 
202   Survival  of  the  Fittest. 

H.  M.  Tiehenor. 
191   Evolution  vs.    Religion. 

Balmforth. 
133   Electricity  Made  Plain. 
92   Hypnotism  Made 

Piain. 
53   Inserts    and   Men: 

Jn^tict  and  Reason. 
189   Eugenics.    Havelock 

Ellis. 

Series  of  Debates 

11   Debate  on  Religion. 
39    Did   Jesus   Ever   Live? 
130   Controversy     on     Chris- 
tianity.     Ingersoll    and 
Gladstone. 

43  Marriage  and  Divorce. 
Horace    Greeley    and 
Robert    Owen. 

208  Debate  on  Birth  Con- 
trol. Mrs.  Sanger  and 
Winter   Russell. 

129   Rome  or  Reason. 

Ingersoll   and   Manning. 

122   Spiritualism.       Conan 
Doyle  and   McCabe. 

171    Has  Life  Any  Meaning? 
Frank    Harris    and 
Percy   Ward. 

200   Capitalism    vs.     Social- 
ism.     Seligman    and 
Searing. 


13   Is  Free  Will  a  Fact  or 
a  Fallacy? 

234  McNeal-Sinclair    De- 
bate on  Socialism. 

141   Would    Practice    of 
Christ's    Teachings 
Make    for    Social 
Progress?      Nearing. 
and   Ward. 

Miscellaneouc 

326  Hints  on  Writing 

Short   Stories.      Finger. 
192    Book    of    Synonyms. 

25   Rhyming    Dictionary. 

78   How   to   Be   an   Orator. 

82  Common  Faults  in 
Writing    English. 

127   What    Expectant 

Mothers   Should   Know. 
81    Care  of  the  Baby. 

136  Child  Training. 

137  Home  Nursing. 

,  14   What  Every  Girl  Should 
Know.     Mrs.   Sanger. 
34   Case  for  Birth  Control 
91   Manhood:     Facts  of 
Life   Presented  to  Men. 

83  Marriage:      Past, 
Present   and    Future. 
Besant. 

74   On    Threshold    of    Sex. 
98   How  to  Love. 
172   Evolution   of   Love. 

Ellen   Key. 
203   Rights  of  Women. 

Havelock  Ellis. 
209   Aspects    of    Birth    Con- 
trol.     Medical,   Moral, 

Sociological. 
93   How   to   Live    100 

Years. 
167    Plutarch's   Rules   of 

Health. 
320  The  Prince. 

Machiavelli. 


